A Bitter-Sweet Season
by Wincasabrielifer
Summary: Some odd seven centuries ago, a girl's life was taken, only to be sent back and to bring the season of change and death upon the lands. No one, not even other guardians could see her, but solitude suited her, and she it. Though, after a while, she longs for the embrace of another being, and goes to great lengths to get the guardian of winter and fun to notice her.
1. Prologue

_"Give me a land of boughs in leaf, a land of trees that stand; where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land." -A. E. Housman._

_"The bittersweet season has taken away so much from us, but has given us so much more." _

The still, dark night brought nothing but omniscience to the quaint little house in the woods. A young girl sat on the front porch of the little warm house, staring up at the bright moon. Her and her two little brothers and three younger sisters had been ordered to move out of the city, and into their grandfather's old cabin that they used to visit on warm summer days. An illness had overcome the city, and the last request her mother had given the young girl was to take care of her younger siblings, and to get as far away as possible from the terrible plague. She had tucked in her little sisters and brother, and had made sure that her oldest of them all was at least inside. She had no time to rest much, rouges and bandits frequented the woods, and she had to keep them all safe. She wore a simple pale yellow dress that only came up to her forearm. She hadn't enough time or cloth to sew up more sleeves to the dress she was rapidly filling. She'd much rather use the spare pieces of matching cloth to fix the skirt of her dress. She also had a worn, beat white apron, and a bonnet that held most of her hair. She wore a cloak made from the pelts of deer that was made by the eldest of her sisters as a surprise. It even had a hood! They lived in northern Russia, where it was almost always freezing, and it came in handy to have a fur pelt to keep you somewhat warm.

The girl had very dark grey hair that was cut choppily in the front, refusing to stay in place, or out of her eyes, and had creamy green eyes, almost the color of jade stones. Her skin was deathly pale and dotted with light freckles. Tied to the string of her apron was a holster that hid a sword her father had made. Her hand rested gently on the leather bound handle. Her eyes had heavy bags under them from long periods without sleep, and her once pristine skin was dusted with dirt and ash, from having little time to bathe herself. Her hands were calloused, and her nails were short and rugged. Everything was silent, there wasn't even a breeze blowing by. The horse tied to its post a few meters away was fast asleep. The silence scared the girl, as her mother had told her, 'the calmest quiet always comes before the worst of storms'. She had not gotten that when she was little, but with age it became more and more true.

Faintly, in the vast darkness of the woods, she could see two bright glowing orbs, and hear some quiet chattering. She knew what was happening. She rushed inside to the small room where they all lived. Everyone slept on the left side of the room, buried under piles of pelts, lying with each other. Directly across from the door was a fire place, and on the right were barrels of pickled fish and dried meats, which were used as tables and chairs, and various boxes full of cloth, garments, and various trinkets and utensils. She went over to the two oldest, her brother and sister, who were twins, around the age of thirteen. They were sleeping next to each other, hugging. She shook them light, trying to wake them. When they finally sat up and rubbed the dreariness from their eyes, they were told of what was happening, and woke up all the others and herding them to the middle of the room. She moved aside a few barrels to reveal a trap door. The girl opened it up and ushered all the kids into the basement, where she kept most of the pickled fish, meats, vegetables, fruits, and anything else. She kissed them each on the fore head and instructed them to stay there until she came back, and not make a single noise. She also told them if she was not back by sun rise, then they had to get out from the outside entrance hidden by bushes, take the cow and their pet dog, and head to a small village to their estranged aunts house. She threw down all of the pelts, all the food besides a couple empty barrels full of brine, their trinkets, and a note to their aunt. She needed it to seem as if no one lived there. She rushed outside to grab handfuls of snow to put out the fire, and then also grabbed some leaves and dead rats, throwing them on the floor. Once she thought her work was good enough, she mounted her Clydesdale appearing horse, and quietly took off towards the mysterious men on the far side of the woods.

With the reins in one hand, and the other on the hilt of her long sword, her horse trotted closer to the men, keeping a distance so they wouldn't notice her. She pulled her hood down to cover her face, and drew her sword from the holster, speeding up a little. She jabbed the sword into the smaller of the two men's back. They couldn't have been more surprised to see a girl nonetheless on a horse.

"Get out of my woods." That was all she could get out before one of the men spooked her horse, which knocked her off. Her sword grazed the man, just enough to make him bleed. She quickly got to her feet as the other one drew his sword. He charged at her, but since she was smaller and more agile than either of them, she quickly moved out of the way before striking the man's arm with a deep gash. Outraged, he jumped at her again, to which she slid out of the way. For a while, all that could be heard in the once quiet woods was metal clashing against metal.

In one last cheap effort to get the upper hand on her, one of the men threw sand in her face, temporarily blinding her. He took the chance to pick up her dropped sword, and plunge it into her stomach until it was coming out of her back. She gasped and clutched her profusely bleeding wound when the sword was wretched free and thrown at her. The men ran off without a second thought, not allowing her to get a word in edgewise. She fell to her knees and looked at her hands that were covered in blood, _her blood, _and body trembling. With weak voice, she ordered her horse to go back to the cabin. She fell into a pile of dead leaves, the rising and falling of her chest slowing down until it was not moving at all. She died with her eyes open, staring blankly at the bright, full moon.


	2. Flight of the Damned

"_To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness." -Erich Fromm _

The dark enveloped the lifeless body at the foot of the leafy oak tree, and strings of silver coming from seemingly no where tied themselves to her. They tugged and pulled at her, then eventually fell, disappearing with a fizzle. The parts that were tied to her wrists stayed though, and melted into her, leaving a trace of bright light that eventually shone out in a few seconds. Once dark, dark brown hair slowly changed to a golden yellow, seeping into the hair from her roots. Her pale, blue tinted cheeks gained a slight rosy color, and the very tips of her ears pointed. Feathered wings sprouted from her back and wrapped around her. Each feather was black and individually tipped with shimmering gold color.

Her first memory of the new life was when she woke up, staring at a strange light through the oak branches. It was bright, and silvery, and at the moment, one of the most beautiful things she could think of. She heard a whisper fall upon her ears, in a calm cool voice. She assumed it was her name. She blinked a few, time, and breathed in deeply. When she got the courage to sit up and look around, all she could see was red. Bright red covering a small patch on her stomach, where there was a slice in her dress. She poked at it, but nothing happened. She grabbed a sword laying next to her and examined it. It was shiny and bright, and felt cool and warm in her hands. A few chunks of bright blonde hair hung in her face, to which she grabbed, and brushed with her fingers, as if she was confused by it. She struggled to get to her feet, and leaned heavily on the tree. Her wing ruffled behind, spooking herself. She lifted the sword, the weight feeling odd, yet familiar in her hands. She stumbled onto the dirt path, using the sword to lean on, as if it was a cane. With shaky legs, and clumsy feet, she walked her best down the path, and into the small village, were unknowingly, her siblings were waiting. Little did she know, she would be alone for a very, very long time.

* * *

She hid within the brush of the forest, peering at the two children who slid across the ice. The snow covered leaves covered her face as she gazed in amazement. One of the people shouldn't have been considered a child, for he was about as old as she was physically. She knew better than to go out there, they wouldn't see her anyways, they never did. But she thought this once, maybe, just maybe, they would see her. They laughed and spun around, and being lonely, she stepped from her spot, carefully. Her cloak was pulled tighter around her, trying to fend off the stinging wind. They laughed, but when the crackling started, they both froze in their spots. The older of the two knelt down to eye level with the girl. He had messy brown hair, and dark amber eyes, unlike her own golden hair, and yellow eyes. His face was twisted into fear and sadness. He already knew one of them wouldn't make it out of it.

"It's okay, it's okay," he cooed to his frightened sister. "Just don't look down, look at me." She knew she couldn't do anything to help, no matter how hard she tried. Those who didn't believe in her couldn't see her, and she would pass through them like the ghost she was. Her clothes she scavenged from a few villages over. She had a low cut dark brown vest over a white corset that she had sewn some sleeves too, with a matching dark brown skirt that had a golden ring going around the edge of it. Her wings were still wrapped tightly around her, blocking out the stinging wind. Her boots were the same brown color, and were folded down. Her sword was in its holster, and she still wore the same cloak she had found when she woke up. The little girl trembled, her brown hair shaking. She wore a brownish greenish dress with a dull red stripe going through it, and ice skates.

"Jack, I'm scared," she stated, her feet slipping a little on the slick ice, cracking under her. Her voice was on the brink of tears.

"Hey, I know, I know." He went to take a step forward, but the ice cracked under his bare foot. He looked around for a moment, arms bent and slightly extended. "But you're going to be alright, you're not going to fall in," he continued. "Uh," sudden realisation came to his face. "We're going to have a little fun instead!"

"No we're not," the girl cried out. The ice continued to crack further beneath them, the more it spread out, the more anxious the spirit got.

"Would I trick you?" Jack tried to convince the girl. Tears were spilling down her cheeks at this point, her cheeks a rosy red.

"Yes, you always play tricks!" Jack's own skates and a shepherds crooks lay only a few meters away. He stuttered a laugh, even though the grimness of the situation.

"N- n- not this time," he stuttered, looking straight into his sisters eyes. "I promise- I promise you. You're going to be, you're going to be fine. You have to believe in me." His sister gave out a heavy breath, still not believing him.

"You want to play a game?" he said almost to cheerfully. "We're going to play hopscotch." Jack attempted to stand up some what straight. "Like we play every day. It's as easy as, uh." He took a step to his right. "One." He bit his lip when he heard crackling, but smile. He balanced on one foot silly, making fake 'whoah', noises. The ghost was nearly crying herself. That boy was trying to save his little sister, even though he was going to get killed himself in the process. His sister laughed at his antics. He took yet another careful step.

"Two," His sister kept on laughing. He leaped a little on the ice. "Three!" he let out happily. He knelt down, never looking away from his sister. "Alright," he placed his hand on the crook. He held it out to her. "Now it's your turn." Her feet shuffled, the ice cracking further, and she let out and audible gasp. "One," she took another hesitant step forward on the ice, scared for her life. "Two," The ice was just about to crack under the young girls feet, plunging her into the dark, freezing water. "Three!" he exclaimed, hooking the crook around her tiny waist and quickly sliding her towards the shore of the pond, were the thicker ice was. He let out a small, satisfied laugh seeing his sister tumble to safety. She looked up at him and smiled. All to soon, when he stood upright, the ice broke beneath him, sending the boy sinking into the freezing water, the last thing he seeing was his little sister calling out for him. The spirit rushed towards the hole in the pond, seeing the tired boy try to swim to the surface, but ended up wearing himself out. She knew there was no saving him, and instead sent a powerful wind to the little girl, knocking her into a snow bank and off the ice. She naturally landed head first, and got a little stuck, unable to aid her brother.

The spirit waited until nightfall to retrieve the body. It would be odd if the family saw the body float out of the water. She stripped down to her under garment she snagged from a clothes line. Though it wasn't much, it was better than nothing. She had a loop of cloth around her upper torso, and shorts she found on. She tucked her wings as close as she could to her body and dived in. Though the water was freezing, she knew it wouldn't kill her. She saw the boy's body near the bottom of the pond, his short hair and clothes waving in the water. She swam down under him and tried to push him up. The bright light from the moon shone down onto the boy, and something odd started to happen. The boy was getting colder than the water, and his hair turned white. His eyes snapped open and the once warm brown eyes were a shaking blue. The man in the moon had chosen to bring him back. She looped her arms under his and kicked up, managing to squeeze the two of them through the opening. She let go of him, and to her surprise, he started floating and the light shone down on him. She quickly shook her curly hair out, and her feather, stripped from her undergarments, and out her dry, warm clothes on, slipping on the pair of panties she'd worn earlier. She watched excitedly as he landed and gained consciousness. She had been alone for so, so long, se needed someone, even if it was a fledgling. When the Jack landed on the ice, he stumbled a little, but picked up the staff that was once his crook. He stumbled more to the woods, and when he saw the frost that spread when his staff knocked against the tree, he got excited. The spirit slid elegantly over the ice and to him, a smile plastered on her face.

"Excuse me?" Jack ignored her. Her eye brows furrowed, and when she reached out to touch him, her hand went right through, like it did with everybody else. She clasped her hands over her mouth and let out a silent sob. She was going to be alone forever, no one, not even other spirits, could see her. She flapped her wings and flew as fast as she could away from him, crying the way back to her snuggery in the woods of her home land. It was a ring of trees tight packed together, over growing to create a sort of dome. It let in sunlight, but kept out rain, and shielded her from prying eyes. That part of the woods was supposed to be haunted, all set up by her of course, were if you came too close to a clusters of trees, trees would reach out and grab out, hit you, do anything to scare you away. In the middle was a huge tree that was full of multi colored autumn leaves all year round, and always grew a new leaf when one fell off. It was there that she had built her nest, soothed by the apples that would grow. When she came to her home, she nearly tore off her cloak, hanging it on a branch, and curled up in her nest, wrapping her wings around her in a cocoon. Her whispering winds were her only companion. She could hear them faintly, at night, whispering sweet nothing and quiet lullabies. But one in particular always bothered her. It seemed so familiar, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

_Never fear thy dark again_

_For light will leadeth thyn way_

_Never fear death again_

_We all go in thy end_

_Men on horses come racing home_

_For battle thyn have won_

_Yargoslav will keepeth us safe_

_Thy candle with not perish_

_Thy nightmares that keepeth thee wake_

_Mornings cometh with banish_

_Dreams are not but a tail_

_Thee imagine in the coldest of nights_

_And when thee head lain to rest_

_May thy holy watch over_


	3. As Time Passes By

It had been nearly three hundred years since the spirit had last seen Jack, and had fallen into something of a depression. The leaves she painted were dull, and not at all colorful, the skies would be dark and rainy when ever she was around, and every animal would get nervous when she was near, as if a storm was approaching. Once she was done painting the leaves, and growing the pumpkins, apples, and corn, she would sit somewhere, watching the children play, hoping for once they would see her. They never did though, and over her years she had run into many other guardians, and as the same as everyone else, they couldn't see her either. Bunnymund could sense her if she was close enough, stating that something felt wrong. Her usual motherly nature was still there though; she would cheer up a sad child with her oracle. It was the only thing that she could you to reach children to let them know she was there, even if they didn't believe. From time to time, when she had all of her work done, she would go and visit the other spirits. She would walk around in North's workshop, and watch the Yeti's or North at work, or she would float by Sandy when he was giving good dreams, sometimes disrupting a stream of sand or two. Sandy was the closest she got to interaction. The short man knew that something was there, but he didn't know what, but became acquainted to her when she was there. Sometimes she would paint Aster's eggs with her leaf dye, often leaving him confused on why most of his eggs were orange, and yellow, and red, and every shade in between. She loved going to Tooth's palace, the little humming bird like fairies zooming around, passing straight through her. She would look at people's teeth, searching for her own. She could never find them. There was a big pile of teeth that were left unsorted from earlier, much more unorganized days, and some of the histories most devastating events from when she couldn't tell whose teeth were whose, such as the sinking of the Titanic, the Holocaust, and many many wars.

Sometimes though, she would visit Pitch, the king of nightmares. He was the only guardian who wasn't believed in, and so she could relate to him. The fearlings knew she was there, and would often get yelled at by Pitch when they would circle and try to ram her. It wasn't until a long while later that she had learned to communicate. Almost all the spirits never paid attention but every once in a while they would notice, but shrug it off as something else. The spirit learned she could control fireflies, which would always come out in early autumn. She could get groups of them together to shape words and objects.

* * *

The night had been a cool one, during late autumn and early winter. The spirit was doing what she normally did, float around the town, tend to the fruit and vegetable crops and what not. She felt an odd sensation come over her, a huge gust of freezing wind. She turned around all too late to see a very familiar face. That spirit, Jack, from a while ago, landed carefully in the snow. She knew this was her only chance. She opened the sack that her little fireflies would stay in, and released them. They immediately flew out and zoomed around Jack's head, getting his attention. He grinned and held out his hand so they could land on it. They flew in front of him, and landed on the spirit who was in front of him. They spread out over her face and right arm, and reached up to touch Jack's face.

"Wait, is that- Are you a spirit?" he asked, confused. She nodded and pointed at the tree whose leaves were falling from the branches. "Of fall?" She nodded again. He squinted as hard as he could at her, but still couldn't see. He furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"That can't be right, 'probably just seeing things…" he muttered to himself before he flew off, leaving the devastated spirit behind him. Her fireflies flew back into the pouch.

"This means game on."

* * *

It was a few weeks later when she saw him again, this time skating on a frozen lake in Michigan, still in bare feet. The spirit drew her sword from its holster and stabbed it into the ice, trying to gain his attention. It worked well enough, and Jack slid up to the crack and examined it. She managed to carve out something. Jack took one look at it and glanced around him, trying to find the source. He took one look again and flew off from the spot.

_Believe_

* * *

She saw him again, nearly a year later. Through that year she saw him constantly, leaving him messages and flat out 'look at me', signs that he shook off as a joke. No one believed in hi, but why did that mean he couldn't believe in another spirit. This time, she was taking drastic measure. She had a note she wrote ties to an arrow and notched it on a bow. From a distance she could see Jack flying down the snow and ice covered street. She timed the firing perfectly so it struck the tree right before he passed it. Of course an arrow randomly lodging itself in a tree took his as suspicious, so he stopped and floated back over and yanked it free. He untied the note and rolled it open, reading it.

'_Dear Mr. Frost,_

_I am the protector of the season autumn, and for the past year I have tried to get your attention many times. Right now I am standing on the rooftop of the antique shop. No one, not even other guardians and spirits, have seen me, not to mention children. Please take this into consideration, and please do me one small favor._

_Believe.'_

Jack stuffed the letter into his pocket and looked around. He was shocked, so to say, to see a tall figure with wings standing on a distant rooftop. He floated up, grabbing his staff, and hesitantly floated over to it. He held up the arrow in his other hand.

"Are you the one who shot this?" he asked getting closer. It wasn't until he was a good distance away that he could see her clearly. She had on a brown vest, a white corset with sleeves, a matching brown skirt, big boots, a tan-colored cloak, and had a sword hanging from her hip. Her hair was long and curly, a beautiful golden blonde color, and had bright yellow eyes. Her most astonishing feature was large feathered wings that were black, but had splotches of gold. Her face was serious, but had trace amounts of despair and sadness. He reached out to her.

"Did you give me this note?" he asked again. Her face softened, and her jaw went slack in amazement, a smile pulling up the corner of her lips.

"You- you can see me?" she stuttered, and took his hand in her own. She marveled at the feeling of someone else's skin, something she had never felt before. When Jack nodded, she grinned. She pulled him by his hand into her arms, hugging him. She flapped her wings excitedly, lifting her up from the ground a few feet. Her legs wrapped around Jack's as she hugged him tighter. "After a millennia, someone can finally see me," she whispered. She set him down and landed in front of him. She kissed him on both of his cheeks.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said over and over as she littered his face with light kisses. He pushed her away and wiped his face, laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, your welcome… Could you not do that again? Also, I need something to call you, what's your name?" She smiled at him in wonder and held his hand tight in hope that he would not disappear.

"Idonia, my name is Idonia."


End file.
